Here With You Page 22

  After she left the room, his mom picked one up and flipped through the pages. “Do people really read this gossip? I mean, who cares what Hollywood couple is getting married or who is cheating on who? It’s not like we know these people.”

  It was better to have her annoyed at society than dwelling on her condition so Brady agreed as she skimmed the pages of the magazine.

  She didn’t read any of the articles as she flipped. And then she paused and picked up the magazine from her lap to bring it closer to her face. She forgot her reading glasses as well so that shouldn’t have been a concern, but her mouth flopped open and her eyes grew wide.

  “Mom?”

  A loud gasp and an incoherent noise escaped her lips. Then, with a burst of energy he’d never seen during a treatment, she slammed the magazine—if a magazine could be slammed—shut and dropped it in her lap as if it had suddenly turned red hot.

  Worry, fear, anger all etched in her tight face. She stared at the magazine in her lap as if it was about to jump up and claw at her throat.

  “Mom?” he asked again. “What’s wrong? Should I get Leah?”

  Clenching her teeth and her shoulders, she nervously shook her head. “No,” she said without moving her jaw.

  Something in the magazine triggered this bizarre reaction from her. Brady reached for the magazine and she snatched it away.

  “No,” she said again.

  “Mom?”

  “Just leave. I need to rest.” She closed her eyes and leaned back into the chair, her tense body doing anything but resting, still clutching the magazine.

  Respecting her wishes—which was why they got along so well—he left her alone and went for a walk through the halls of the hospital.

  Something spooked his mom. Spooked the hell out of her.

  And he’d make sure he’d find out what it was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “SHE WANTS WHAT?” GRACE balanced her cell phone between her shoulder and ear as she pushed the shopping cart down the cookie aisle. She may need to unload the shelves into her cart for this favor.

  “Yesterday was rough for her. Maybe she wants another woman to talk to,” Brady said on the other line.

  His mom was in rough shape last night, so he’d stayed home to be close to her. While Grace missed his warmth in her bed, she also respected his love and devotion to his mom.

  “Is she doing any better today?” She tossed a package of double stuffed Oreos in the cart.

  “I don’t know. She’s acting strangely. Won’t talk to Carter or me, but she wants you to come over.”

  Grace stopped, wheeled the cart backward, and tossed two more packages of Oreos in her cart. No need to hit up the wine aisle. Alexis brought over a case of wine the other day. Another one who’d been acting weird.

  Since she watched Sophie last month, Alexis had been less snarky. Even laughed at a joke Grace had made at book club a few weeks ago and complimented her on her slutty brownies, a recipe Mia had found and begged Grace to make.

  “As soon as I get home and unload the groceries I’ll be there.” Not with bells on. Hanging out with Dorothy Marshall was not guaranteed to be a good time.

  “Thanks. I love you. See you soon.”

  Grace dropped her phone in her purse and checked out the liquor aisle. She’d need something stronger than Lobster Red after this.

  Brady greeted her at the door with a kiss and a warm hug. “I missed you.” It had only been two days since she’d seen him, but she missed him too.

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Listen to her, all romantic and gushy.

  “Let’s not test that theory too often. My bed isn’t as comfy as yours.”

  “So you’re using me for my comfy mattress?”

  “That and other things.” He kissed her again, his winter facial scruff tickling her lips, and then unbuttoned her coat.

  “Now you’re taking my clothes off in your kitchen?” she whispered, giggling when he gently poked at her ribs.

  “Brady,” his mother said from behind, instantly ruining the mood.

  “Hi, Mrs. Marshall. How are you feeling today?” She wore jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her bald head covered in a scarf. Years of working outside in harsh conditions had weathered her skin, yet she still looked young. Today, she even looked fierce.

  Ignoring her completely, she handed Brady a piece of paper. “I need you to go to Fabric Barn and get me more batting and thread.”

  “Now?” He rubbed the back of his neck and wrinkled his nose.

  “Yes.”

  That would mean he’d be gone for at least an hour. Maybe longer if he needed help finding items on her list.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”

  Yes! Stick around! Grace wanted to scream.

  “We will be fine.”

  “I can call Carter, see when he’ll—”

  “I don’t need a babysitter twenty-four seven. Just go.”

  Brady opened his mouth, probably to argue, and wisely shut it. No one messed with Dorothy.

  “Okay.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek and did the same to Grace. “Call me if you need anything. Both of you.”

  As soon as Brady left, Mrs. Marshall turned and walked away. Figuring she was supposed to follow, Grace toed off her sneakers and joined her in the living room.

  Sitting tall and strong in her usual chair, this time without the quilt wrapped tightly around her, Mrs. Marshall tapped on a magazine in her lap. Grace never would have pegged her as a reader of Hollywood gossip.

  Taking a seat at the end of the sofa near her, Grace did her best not to show her nervousness. Nervous about what, she hadn’t a clue. The woman hated her for no apparent reason.

  “How long are you planning on stringing my son along?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Mrs. Marshall flipped open the magazine and with a force of aggression Grace wasn’t expecting, handed it to her.

  Reluctant, Grace took it from her. “What is it?” she asked, not looking at the magazine.

  “You tell me.” She sat ramrod straight, her eyes accusatory and fierce.

  Grace glanced at the headline on the left. A Hollywood divorce announcement. Old news. The magazine must be from last summer. Then she saw the pictures on the other side. Gasping, she dropped it on the floor, her fingers singed.

  Robert had insisted the pictures he took of her in bed would never see the light of day. They’d be damaging to his marriage and career, while she was a nobody and didn’t have a reputation to worry about.

  Oh, how wrong he’d been.

  “I...” She couldn’t form words, much less sounds.

  “The article says you had an affair with a married man while his wife was pregnant.”

  Grace knew he was married, not that his wife was pregnant. She’d learned about that when Brielle Powers caught them in her bed, her baby bump evident in her tight dress.

  The model was a fashion icon. Her husband a well-known British actor. It was in both their best interests to keep Grace a secret. When Brielle all but blackballed her from the fashion industry, Grace packed up and moved home.

  Robert had never lived up to his promise of helping her make it big. When he’d been drinking and she’d asked for his help with getting her recognized, he’d laugh and tell her she was no good.

  Grace blamed it on the alcohol and possibly his guilt of cheating on his wife. It wasn’t like he had a solid reputation in that department anyway. He was a known philanderer, which was why she hadn’t felt too guilty about having the affair.

  He’d promised her big things. Not money or material possessions, those she didn’t want. She wanted to own her own franchise, to be appreciated by the fashion industry, and he had connections through his wife.

  It was sick. It was twisted. It was so, so wrong, but Grace had been at rock bottom. She had no pride and saw no value in herself.

  She didn’t succeed working at the vineyard in Italy. She struggled through fashi
on school, eventually earning her degree in liberal arts. But clothes were her thing. She had an eye for them.

  Just not design. Which was why coming to Maine to hide out and process was the only choice she had left.

  And she was broke.

  Feeling the daggers from across the room, Grace lifted her chin, faking dignity and poise.

  “I’m not the same woman I was back then. I made mistakes and have worked hard to be a better person.”

  “So this filth is true?”

  She hadn’t read the article and didn’t want to. It didn’t matter. Whatever it said couldn’t be worse than the truth.

  She was a dirty whore who had no right being with someone as good and pure as Brady Marshall.

  “I’m not... her anymore.”

  “Does my son know about your scandalous past?”

  Grace remained silent, refusing to discuss this with his mother, who hated her on pretense alone.

  “For some reason, he thinks he’s in love with you.” Grace closed her eyes, forcing back her tears. “He has a big heart. One that will be crushed to pieces if he were to ever learn he was duped a fool.”

  Clenching her hands until her manicured nails bit into her palms, Grace forced herself to remain calm, eyes still closed.

  “I pray to God he never finds out about this.”

  Her eyes flung open. So she would keep the secret?

  “You’ll end things with my son. Now. He’ll think he has a broken heart, but it will heal when he finds the right woman for him.” Mrs. Marshall stood, her body rigid. “Leave. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

  Grace prayed her shaking legs would hold her as she stepped past Mrs. Marshall and into the kitchen. She didn’t bother trying to put her sneakers on all the way and shoved her toes into them, her heels sticking out in the back. Grabbing her coat without putting it on, she let herself out of the house and somehow made it into her car and back to her apartment before she had a full meltdown.

  As soon as she closed the door behind her, she curled up into a ball in the middle of her bed and cried.

  And cried. And cried. Her throat dry and hoarse, her body shook with convulsions and pain until she could no longer move.

  Sometime later she woke to the ringing of her phone. Rubbing the dry grit from her eyes, she rose and found her purse under her coat on the floor in the living room.

  Brady.

  Two missed calls and six new texts. She couldn’t read them or listen to his voice. Powering off her phone, she tossed it in her purse and went to her room to change into large sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt.

  Somehow she needed to end things with Brady, to come up with a reason why they needed to break up.

  The ugly truth was easiest. He’d want nothing to do with her once he found out. But his mother wanted to protect him from the nasty truth. Needing time and fearing he’d show up at her doorstep, she dug out her keys and left.

  For hours she drove around aimlessly with no direction. No purpose. No hope. De`ja` vu back to Paris a year and a half ago.

  And just like then, she had no friend to call. No sister to lean on.

  If she told her new friends what she’d done, they’d disown her as quickly as Brady would. She’d never had close girlfriends before. Lots and lots of girls and guys to hang out with in her teens and early twenties, sure. No one she’d refer to as a best friend.

  No one to share her secrets with. To go to for advice. To cry with.

  Lily, Hope, Mia, and Jenna were Alexis’ friends first, and Grace knew better than to come in between them. She’d done that in high school, intentionally sleeping with boys who were Alexis’ friends.

  Her sister got all the attention, and Grace wanted some too. It took years of traveling and living on her own to realize how self-destructive she’d been. It was her fault Alexis hated her. Her fault she didn’t have a sister to confide in when she really, really needed one.

  Getting caught in Robert’s bed was embarrassing. She was mad he never made due on his promise of getting her into the fashion industry. She was ashamed his wife had been pregnant; a new low for her. She was mad and pissed off, yes.

  Losing Brady was more. So much more. Her lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe. Her muscles weakened and trembled.

  Knowing she wasn’t safe on the road anymore and couldn’t go home and risk Brady coming over, she went to the only place she thought would be safe.

  Home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  HER PARENTS WERE GETTING ready for bed when she knocked on the back door and entered the kitchen.

  “Hey, beautiful daughter.” Her dad kissed her nose and held up his mug. “Don’t tell your mother I had a cup of hot chocolate before bed. She’s been trying to get me to cut back on my sugar intake.”

  “Secret’s safe, Daddy.” She was good at keeping secrets. Grace melted into her father’s embrace and inhaled his familiar scent. Wood shavings, grapes, and a hint of soap.

  “What brings my favorite youngest daughter by at nine-thirty?”

  The kitchen was dark, with only the light above the sink shining, which hopefully covered her red and splotchy face.

  “Can I sleep in my old room tonight?”

  “Oh, honey.” He squeezed tighter. “Everything okay with you and Brady?”

  Her stomach spasmed, and she broke down in tears again. Soon there was another set of arms around her.

  “Sweetie.” The warmth and love of her mom’s voice and comfort was too much, and her legs gave out.

  “I gotcha,” her dad said and helped her to the couch.

  He laid her down and covered her with a blanket. She curled on her side, tucking a throw pillow against her chest.

  “Want to talk about it?” her mother asked, sitting next to her, rubbing her side.

  “I... can’t.”

  A few minutes later her father brought a mug of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. “I know you’ve outgrown it, but this used to make you feel better when you were little.”

  Her throat tightened with pain. The guilt clawing at her. Her parents didn’t do anything to deserve her behavior the last few years. Hell, two decades. Always supportive in her need to be free, to be adventurous, to not commit to anything, they loved her without question.

  And she took advantage of it, squandering her college money and taking for granted they’d always be there for her.

  Which they were.

  “I love you guys,” she croaked, her eyes too dry to cry anymore. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sweetheart, whatever it is, we’ll always love you. Nothing will change that.”

  “I’ve been,” she sniffed, “a shitty daughter. I know you don’t like swearing, but that’s the only word to describe me.”

  “You’re a free spirit, Gracie.” Her father took a seat in the rocker across from her, still holding her hot chocolate. “We love that about you and would never want you to change.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying I’m a screw-up?”

  “Honey.” Her mother sighed. “You’ve never been a screw-up. You take risks. You grab onto life and run with it. You make life happen. We’ve always admired that about you. Even Alexis does.”

  Grace snorted and shifted, sitting up and tucking her feet under her. “Alexis is your level-headed, responsible, reliable, got-her-shit-together daughter.”

  “And you’re our determined, liberated, strong-willed, fun-loving, big-hearted daughter,” her father said, handing her the mug.

  Grace sipped the whipped cream and then the cocoa. “And more fashionable.”

  “See? Hot cocoa does make you feel better.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Dad.” Grace straightened her legs and wrapped her free arm around her mom. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t um... don’t tell anyone I’m here, okay?”

  “We’re here if you want to talk about it.” Her mom hugged her and passed her off to her father for another hug.

  Her legs were heavy, but she managed to
climb the stairs to her old room and crawl under her covers.

  Sleep, however, did not come.

  The room was bright with the sun’s rays when she heard her door open and felt the bed sink.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Alexis?” Grace blinked open her eyes and pushed herself up with her elbows.

  “My God. You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it. Your eyelashes are stuck to your cheek.” Alexis peeled the false eyelashes off and flicked it onto the carpet. “What the hell is going on? Brady’s been blowing up my phone all worried about you, and then I saw your car in the driveway.”

  She should have thought about that one, hiding her car.

  “I just ... need some time alone.”

  “You live in an apartment by yourself. I’d say you’re more alone there than at Mom and Dad’s. It’s you and Brady, huh? He wouldn’t tell me what was up. Something is wrong.”

  “What gave it away?” She pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her eyes.

  “The fact you left your house in that ugly ass shirt.”

  Grace looked down at her chest. Brady had worn it to her apartment one night, coming straight from Ty’s after helping him work on the lawnmower.

  The gray Cabela’s shirt had a rip in the armpit and a grease stain across the chest. She’d washed it a few times, and it wouldn’t come out. She shrunk into the comfort of the worn material.

  “What did he do? How did he hurt you?”

  “What?” She was tired and not thinking straight, and couldn’t have heard her sister correctly. “Why do you think it’s his fault?”

  “Because I’ve been there.”

  “Ben?”

  “Yeah. When I found out he had a baby and had never told me the entire time we were dating that he had a pregnant ex-girlfriend back at home... yeah. Shit. Fan.” Alexis scooted up on the bed and rested her back against the wall. “I was a moping mess. Looked a lot like you do right now. Minus the black river of makeup. I wished I had my sister here to talk to.”

  Grace hiccupped and tears flowed down her cheeks. “But you hate me,” she practically whined.

  Alexis sighed and handed Grace a box of tissues. Apparently, she’d come prepared. “I don’t hate you.”